Not a Rose Garden
by Rothelena
Summary: My dream from last night: Love could destroy everything he had been working for. But she had come and stolen his heart without asking if he wanted it stolen. Now, nothing would save him. Just short, nothing new- like a writing exercise. Mind the rating, please! M, M, M!


_This is the dream I had last night (in the four hours I actually slept), so I thought, I write it down.  
_

_It's angsty, but short, so it won't take long until there's some comfort._

_It's clearly M-rated, because there will be sex eventually! Back off if you don't want to read that!_

**Not a Rose Garden**

„A beer, Agent Lisbon?"

She looked at the barkeeper as if she noticed him for the first time. A part of her wondered what the hell she was doing here. But she knew she had a long, lonely, miserable weekend in front of her. No way she would get through this stone-cold sober.

"No, Jack. Give me Scotch, and make it a double. And keep them coming until I hold my hands up in surrender."

Jack chuckled, cleaning glasses with fast, almost graceful movements.

"Tough day at the job, huh?"

She smiled a bitter, humorless smile, one of those that hurt on her face. No no no, she wouldn't cry here like an oversized baby. She was tough. Had survived the last decade without love in her life. She would manage. Would be absolutely fine. Peachy.

"No." she said. "The job is fine. It's my fucking heart that makes everything complicated."

She flinched inwardly. Language like that usually wasn't her cup of tea, but damn if it wasn't a night for curses.

Jack seemed to hear four-letter-words all the time, he just nodded solemnly.

"Tell me something I don't already know." He said with a gentle smile.

She felt the tears coming, forced a brave little smile. No.

For the first time since puberty she wanted to behave like a girl. Cry and beg and curl into a ball in her bed, letting the relentless tears lull her to sleep.

She was behaving ridiculously, of course.

Patrick Jane had never promised her anything. Had just held her hand in a godforsaken desert, when he'd been alone and broken and dependent on human contact, somebody, anybody to give him comfort.

She had been nothing but the only one there.

But his nine years of celibacy, he had given up for another woman. Her heart clenched painfully, dammit, what was she doing here. At all.

It was stupid. It was petty. It would give her nothing but additional pain.

But she couldn't stop the thoughts. They were like a cold block of ice in her guts which refused to melt, refused to be touched by any warmth she encountered. It stayed cold and unrelenting, the icy shards cutting into her flesh while the thoughts played like a commercial in her head, again, again.

Loralei had touched him, had kissed him, had spent the night in his arms.

And she, nice, harmless Teresa Lisbon, had been ignored, her texts and calls unanswered, her worries… unimportant.

Okay, now the tears were flowing, and she had reached the utmost depths of pettiness. Damn.

Why should he have chosen her? She was boyish, boring and not young anymore. And, oh yes- her breasts were small. Like pretty much everything else, too.

He obviously found the bad girls attractive, and she had to face it: bad- that wasn't her.

He had spent the day with Loralei in the interrogation room at the county jail. That was fine with her, of course, he was the only one who might be able to make her talk, so it was his damn duty to try.

But the irrational part of her simply wanted to march in there, pull Jane to safety by his hair and scratch her rival's eyes out. The thought made her smile for a second before she sobered up fast, coughing to mask her inappropriate thoughts.

She just hoped Jane wouldn't do anything stupid. Because if he did, she would have to bail him out, she knew.

Because that was what she always did.

Xxxxxxxxxx

Monday morning, and she still felt somewhat hung over.

She had spent most of the weekend working out vigorously, trying to distract herself from the endless-loop playing inside her head. She wanted to feel strong and capable, not vulnerable and delicate. That was for girls. She couldn't afford being a girl. In a way, she'd never had the time. Too late to develop a crush now. Her dating days were over.

But she couldn't make her heart stop beating faster when Patrick Jane entered her office, looking fresh and rested, his hair gleaming in the morning light. She hated that she always seemed to think a poet's thoughts when she saw him- he loosened something inside her she had kept tightly fastened all those years. He made her life difficult in a way she couldn't fathom.

And still- would he leave one day, she knew it would feel like dying. Simple as that.

Despite his impeccable exterior, Jane was visibly agitated, his eyes wild and excited.

Fear blossomed like a carpet of moss inside her icy guts. Not one of his crazy plans.

"Lisbon," he said, "we have to get Loralei out of prison."

The shock was so deep she was surprised that she didn't lose consciousness. She swallowed several times to get rid of the dizziness, her skin prickling with the barely avoided shut-down of physical awareness.

"Are you crazy, Jane?" she hissed, "She worked with a serial killer, Red John, for god's sake!"

"She isn't evil, Lisbon!" he said, putting both hands against her desk, coming so close she could smell his sweet breath. He pulled back immediately, pacing the room. "I think I can turn her. She has responded well to some mental techniques I tried, so it's manageable. Wouldn't it be important to save a soul, Lisbon? It's what you do all the time."

"Feel free to… turn her, Jane. But what's been done, is done. She's a criminal, she stays in prison."

"She hasn't done anything except seducing me and making me some eggs. And almost cut off two of my fingers, okay, but she hasn't actually done that, Lisbon. You can do something, can't you?"

"No." she said firmly, gritting the word out between clenched teeth. "I can't. Jane, you let personal feelings cloud your judgment. Are you sure you don't want to get her free because you're still attracted to her?"

It felt like acid- yes, acid, running through her veins, eating into bloody, torn flesh. Everything dissolved in a flood of devouring pain, and she wanted to be gone, wanted to vanish from the face of the earth, silent, dead, wiped out.

"There's nothing wrong with personal feelings, Lisbon," he said mercilessly, twisting the knife without realizing what he did, "you should try it sometimes."

Before she could find the strength to reply, he was gone, leaving an empty space of darkness.

She closed her eyes, before she doubled over and retched into her trash can for several minutes.

Xxxxxxxxxx

Patrick Jane swallowed the hot tea carefully, savoring the scalding sensation on his tongue.

Okay, that had been mean- Teresa Lisbon was the queen of soulful responsibility, caring for everyone and everything, so it hadn't been uncalled for to say she hadn't any personal feelings. But he had been passionate about his cause, so it had slipped out.

She would get over it, she was a tough little number.

He smiled. Then stopped.

He had been more than confused lately, Las Vegas had cost him an enormous part of his calm and superiority, and he urgently had to regain that to catch Red John.

And yes- part of his wish to get Loralei out was based on personal feelings.

He had sacrificed his celibacy for her, that had to mean something, hadn't it?

But it was worse- if it hadn't meant anything, if he had been able to go through with his plan although he had not been truly attracted to Loralei, it would be because his feelings were resting elsewhere.

And he absolutely couldn't go there. No way. Not in a million years.

He knew what he had said. When he had entered her office, knowing he had to shoot at her in just a second, his sole focus had been on her. He still knew every detail. How her hair had moved, the excruciating delicacy of her body. His little pixie princess. His heart had been full to the brim all of a sudden, so he had given in and pulled her close, granting his body what he had denied him for years, just once, just one moment of physical closeness.

A dream coming true, her warm, tiny frame in his arms at last, firm and solid, but so petite, almost fragile. It had been the hardest thing to release her.

And when he'd finally pulled the weapon, its weight cold and substantial in his hands, he hadn't been able to hold back the freaking words. He knew he should never have spoken them, should have taken them into his grave with him.

He had distracted her when she had asked him about it later, played the innocent, pretending to have forgotten what he had said. He would never forget it. Not in a million years. Every word was etched into his heart, his tarnished soul. LOVE YOU.

He knew it was true. But it couldn't be, it wasn't allowed to be.

He had lost the woman he had loved more than his own life. He would never, ever love again. Love could hurt him. Love could kill him. Deliver the final blow he couldn't survive. Make him unable to execute his revenge, a revenge that was everything that kept him going. Once Red John was finished, he would leave and never come back. He would search his death then, and he was sure he would find it. Men like him found it everywhere.

Love? No.

Love was an enemy, a choking shadow. Designed to make him weak and soft.

Better to concentrate on what he'd had with Loralei: simple physical attraction.

He could turn her. He would get her released, say his goodbye with a last kiss and cherish her memory instead of… he couldn't go there.

He wasn't in love. He hadn't fallen for his too-good-to-be-true superior, hadn't lost his stony heart to Teresa Lisbon, for god's sake.

His stomach hurt, he hadn't eaten in a while.

And he closed his eyes, taking one deep breath after the other, simply ignoring how his arms ached to sample that delicious sensation again, the tiny, warm body held close to his larger frame, her fluttering heartbeat thundering against his chest.

He wanted to live elsewhere, another space, another time, free to do what he wanted, free to follow his silly heart everywhere.

His tiny bird's body inside his gentle embrace. It was all he wanted, all he had ever been asking for.

His eyes snapped open.

He was a fool. He wouldn't turn Loralei, and he knew it. Knew that she was evil to the core, not a way to take his heart off Teresa Lisbon.

For no matter what he did, no matter how many women he slept with: his stubborn heart would stay where it was. Throbbing in the hands of his angry little princess with the deep, soulful eyes.

Eyes that haunted him every night, huge as saucers, getting larger and larger until they swallowed the whole universe and became his only world.

_Good luck, Teresa. Love you._

God help him, he did.

Xxxxxxxxxx

"Boss?" Cho entered her office and sat down on the chair in front of her desk.

"Yes?" she said, looking at the loose sheets of paper Cho held in his hands, dread rising slowly.

"Jane has forged signatures in order to get to Loralei- at least twice." Her fellow agent said calmly."Once Rigsby's, once Ron's."

She swallowed drily.

"How did you learn about that? Usually, not even specialists recognize Jane's forgeries."

"Pure coincidence." Cho shrugged. "The protocols landed on my desk, and I skimmed through them- Rigsby's signature stuck out, because it's huge, and the day where he apparently visited Loralei during lunch time was the day where he almost spent every working hour… telling me about his relationship problems. Believe me, I'm not likely to forget that, unfortunately- he spent lunch with me. And, let's not forget: he had no reason to see Loralei, he wasn't involved in her interrogation. The same is true for Ron, so I checked the times with both of them- neither have been there."

The coldness inside her increased.

"Why should Jane feel forced to forge those signatures?" she asked slowly. "He had the right to interview Loralei. He could go there anytime, using his own signature."

Cho nodded.

"I found out that his access to Loralei has been restricted lately- by Susan Darcy. Apparently he tried to touch Loralei frequently during the interviews, attempting to take her hand, framing her face with his hands as if he wanted to kiss her… you know that's absolutely not allowed in prison. A watchman stepped in, and it seems that Darcy got worried Jane might get too obsessed about Loralei, so she limited his interrogation time to two hours a day. Not enough for Jane, obviously- so he forged our signatures to get in. I think he waited until a guard went on duty who didn't already know him- you're aware that Jane has that kind of… criminal energy, boss."

Lisbon's brain seemed to be throbbing with pain. She wasn't surprised, no. Just stupid.

How could she have fallen in love with him, dammit?

She had compromised her position for him, had lost almost all of her professional cool. And still her whole system reared with jealousy, pain, hurt feelings. She wanted to weep, wanted to stop her hands from needing to touch him, her soul from crying out to him. She swallowed her churning emotions.

"I will talk to him." She said, already getting up, her steps feeling tired and heavy.

Her insides a Moloch of bleeding flesh.

Xxxxxxxxxx

His body was aroused. He was almost squirming on his makeshift bed in the attic, unable to find rest.

He had to keep his distance, couldn't work with Lisbon as closely as he had done before. He was vulnerable to her, easy to manipulate. His feelings for her made him prey. He couldn't risk to become a victim now. He was so close to Red John, he could almost smell him.

Catching the monster was paramount.

But his body didn't listen, his urge for a single touch so strong his bones seemed to attempt breaking through his skin.

His breath was accelerated. He couldn't decide to touch himself because he knew: if he heightened the sensations, increased the arousal, his fantasies would run amok, and he would visualize things he had no business imagining.

He would keep his distance. Concentrate on Loralei, on using their relationship to make her talk.

He was nothing but a piece of dirt. He could well use his worthless body, fake a simple emotion to get to Red John.

Love was a nuisance, a complication.

He would keep his distance.

His heart sank when he heard the door open behind him. He knew full well who was the only one visiting him in his gloomy, dusty cave. The one who held his heart.

"Lisbon," he drawled, trying to sound cool and nonchalant, "I'm trying to catch up on some sleep here…"

"You have forged two signatures to get to Loralei, you moron," she hissed, "the least you can do is talk to me."

He sat up.

"Yes," he said, "I needed more time with Loralei. I'm supposed to make her talk, you remember?"

"You don't want to make her talk," she whispered, and he saw a hurt in her eyes that almost made his heart crack. "You want to get her out, remember?"

The need to touch her was overwhelming, he dug his fingers into the mattress to stop himself from reaching out.

"I changed my mind," he answered, "and you were right- my judgment was impaired by personal feelings. I know I can't get her out. Red John is inside her mind, and he's too deep to ever get him out of there. Not even I can make him leave. So of course we can't release her. But that doesn't change the fact that I have to talk to her."

"You touched her," she said, tonelessly, empty. Her lips trembled, although she visibly tried to stop it. He hurt for her. He expected to dissolve into a puddle of sheer blood any minute.

"Yes," he answered, making his voice as cold as it could get. "I had sex with her, Lisbon. I never said I wasn't attracted to her."

Every word tasted like lead. His heart fluttered in HER chest, Teresa Lisbon's, and he could almost feel hers breaking into tiny shards of pure glass. He wanted to catch her, hold her. He knew he mustn't.

Had to play that as cool as he could.

He swallowed the tears which were so, so close to falling now. His hands shook. He put them between his thighs, hiding them from her view.

"Of course." She said, her voice almost strangled. He'd never seen her like this.

Teresa Lisbon had always been tough to her bones, a caretaker, a saint. Her composure almost never broke. She held her head high when everything around her crumbled to dust.

_Good luck, Teresa. Love you._

_What did I say? I was pretty hyped up._

"You have no idea, Lisbon," he snarled, feeling his face contort with anger, "no idea what all this is costing me. Do you think I can afford this? It's more mess than I can bear right now. I swore to myself that I would never, NEVER love again. I almost died when he took her from me, dammit. Nothing feels like it, Teresa, NOTHING. There is NOTHING worse. NOTHING. Don't you think I've been worried to the point of insanity since I returned from Las Vegas? He knows you, Teresa. My biggest weakness. Do you have any idea what would happen to me if he manages to get you somehow, Teresa? It would exceed any kind of carnage you have seen in your life. I don't know what I would do. Maybe I would become a monster myself, who knows? There's NOTHING worse, Teresa. No pain more crippling, forever. I wouldn't survive this again."

"It was Loralei with whom…"

"Forget Loralei!" he screamed, "She is nothing but a faceless worm, a scheme, nothing more! She's not even a shadow of this, Teresa. You asked me what I meant before I shot you? I'll tell you now: I meant every single word. I love you, Teresa. And my love makes me weak, makes you a target, puts everything in so much danger I'm shaking in my boots every waking second."

He saw her shudder, his throat felt sore. He couldn't talk any longer.

But he snapped when he watched her turn, start to walk away from him.

He shot up and grabbed her arm, realizing that he wasn't gentle. He pulled her close before he almost threw her on his bed, the rough planks creaking beneath her.

"…and you sure as hell can't go right now!" he shouted and mindlessly, thoughtlessly covered her body with his.

It felt so good. So good that he forgot everything, let every thought flow into thin air. It felt like rain on parched soil, like sweet relief from a festering wound. He pushed his face against her neck and sobbed, her scent surrounding him like a warm blanket, sweeter than anything he'd ever smelled before. He inhaled deeply, trying to merge her essence with his, never to let her go. He kissed her warm, soft skin, like silk beneath his lips.

He pushed himself up on his arms and looked at her. Her hair fanning out beneath her head, the dark flood flowing over his pillow. Huge green eyes staring at him, so much warmth inside them, a million times more than he deserved.

Suddenly, he just didn't care any longer.

He pressed his lips on hers as if he had to breathe through them from now on, a dying man struggling to save his life through the only woman who truly cared for him.

Her kiss was as sweet and hot as a tropical jungle, her tiny tongue pushing between his lips boldly, deepening the contact until his senses were reeling, fighting to get closer.

"You can't go." He whispered into her mouth.

"I know." She whispered back, and he tore her silky blouse at the seams, struggling to get fabric away from her body while she did the same, ripping buttons off, fighting to get him naked as fast as possible.

The cool air felt good on his fevered skin, but her hands were better, searching and probing, finding his most sensitive spots with graceful ease as if she had done this a hundred times before. As if his body had been hers alone for ages.

He kicked off his shoes and impatiently opened his belt and fly, his lips still glued to her mouth, his tongue battling with hers until his erection started to throb painfully. He was aroused beyond words, and her fingers slipped beneath his waistband, gently tracing the curve of his buttocks, scratching his skin. He almost came in his pants, shuddering and shaking beneath her caresses, every single touch like a major explosion inside him.

"Jane," she whispered, her eyes shining with love, "take me hard- please."

And every thought inside his brain diffused into mush at that very second, leaving a horny beast intent on killing.

Xxxxxxxxxx

She felt him go rigid in her arms, felt his erection harden against her stomach and almost purred with satisfaction. She wanted him, would do anything to have him right now, she pulled him down and kissed his beloved face, the skin she'd longed to touch so much. His breath grazed her cheeks, warm and balmy, but her mind was in so much uproar she just needed more, closer.

She impatiently wriggled out of her jeans and quickly lost the panties while pushing his pants and underwear down at the same time, needing to feel his bare skin on hers. She could touch him, after all those years she was finally allowed to touch him.

His hands and lips were rough and urgent, and she groaned with joy, needing to feel him hard tonight, so hard reality stayed away for a while.

There was nothing she wanted but him.

The air in the attic was cool and dusty, but she felt nothing but his lips, sliding over her jaw, her throat until they reached her chest. He licked over her collarbone before he let his mouth wander to her breasts, his lips sinking into the soft flesh.

He found her nipples, gently biting down on one while his fingers played with the other, sending sharp jolts of pleasure through her system until she gasped with lust, rubbing her body against his, showing him her desire.

A gush of wetness covered his thigh, pressed between her legs, and he hummed low in his throat, appreciating how ready she was, how willingly she surrendered.

He pushed his hand beneath her leg and lifted it over his hip, opening her sex to him.

His eyes were frantic and dark when he looked at her, the sight making her heart beat even faster. He was so beautiful, she wanted to eat him alive, wanted to crawl beneath his skin, vanish inside him forever.

"Hard, love?" he whispered and pushed into her with a single, deep thrust.

The feeling took her breath away. He was enormous, so hard she felt every ridge, every vein on his length, his girth stretching her in an exquisite mixture of pleasure and pain. She spread her legs wider to give him more room, but only succeeded in making him go even deeper. It felt as if he pierced her heart, impaled her completely, and she embraced the sensation, her fingers digging into his flesh, pulling him closer still.

"Oh god," he breathed, his voice barely there, strangled in his throat, "you're so tight."

She arched in his arms, pressing her groin hard against his, throwing her head back in ecstasy. He was so deep inside her he filled her completely, no single space where she couldn't feel him, and she so needed him to have her now, rough, mad, wild beyond sanity.

She playfully bit his chin, not hard enough to leave a mark, but it transported her message, made him thrust inside her, the wave crashing through her with incredible force, shattering every thought her mind tried to muster.

Jane was much stronger than he looked, and his lust fuelled enormous momentum. His hips slammed against hers at insane speed, his rhythm never faltering, one hand clutching her hip in an utterly possessive gesture, holding her still for his ruthless invasion. She loved it, her whole body quaking under his onslaught, ecstasy and pleasure and lust running rampant inside her.

His breath streamed against her face, making her that much more aware, his lustful panting heightening her own desire into a frantic mass of sheer need.

He hammered into her so hard reality seemed to fracture, his frenzy forming her whole world, his cock heating more and more with every stroke. Her hands drove into his hair, the warm silk flowing over her fingers, and she exploded in a flood of sparks and light, her muscles contracting around him so sharply it hurt. She came until she was sobbing from the sensations, her whole face wet with tears, and still he kept thrusting, pushing her legs over his shoulders to deepen the penetration. It felt awesome, his length piercing her very core, making her womb clench under a murderous set of aftershocks before they rose into another climax, the sensation so acute her whole body went rigid with pleasure.

Her senses were heightened, she felt him shudder in her arms, his fast rhythm getting erratic, his muscles contracting beneath her fingers. He was covered in sweat, tears were dripping from his lips onto her face, mingling with hers. He kissed her moist lips, his cock so huge and hard and simply burning hot, she felt him lengthen, widen while he thrust his tongue into her mouth, and he was still pumping his hips when she felt the sharp heat of his semen wash against her sore walls. It was soothing and burning at the same time, and their cries of lust clashed in the dark, silent room, the sound alone making her come again in his arms, come while his seed shot into her in seemingly endless spurts.

He was wheezing when he had emptied himself inside her to the last drop, his whole body shaking from the force of his orgasm. She felt a surge of nameless tenderness for him and let her legs slide down from his shoulders, welcoming him into her arms, pulling him down until his head rested on her chest. She stroked his hair, over and over again, it was luxuriously soft and warm, bathing her fingers in gentle sensations.

God, how she loved him. She would risk her soul to save his.

After his breathing had quieted a little bit, he lifted his head and pushed himself upwards until he could put his forehead against hers.

"You must know, Teresa," he whispered, his breath once again soft and sweet on her face," that I will do ANYYTHING to protect you. No matter what it takes. If it means that I have to cheat and break the law a hundred times, I will do exactly that. If I have to kill people, I will do it. No matter what- I will do ANYTHING to protect you from Red John."

"Jane," she whispered back, "you know I can protect my…"

"That's not what I'm talking about." He interrupted. "I know you can, but that won't stop me. I'm talking about me. I'm a beast when it comes to protecting those I love, Lisbon. You haven't seen me like that, and you won't like it. But it's who I am these days. Normal love isn't possible for me anymore. I will protect you with my life, it's the only way I can do this."

She took a deep breath, inhaling the intoxicating sweetness flowing from his lips.

"I don't want you to do that for me, Jane."

"I know." He kissed her gently, speaking between kisses. " That's why I'm telling you. Whatever stands between you and your safety- it has to go. I will destroy it. Human or not, friend or foe. I don't take risks with your life, Teresa."

She didn't know what to say, but she realized he was right. After what he had been through, a normal relationship wouldn't be possible for him. No wonder he had been so afraid to fall in love again.

She loved him so much. Her love was like a live animal, its heart throbbing deep inside her like a separate one, a new source of life in her depths.

"I know it's hard." He continued. " I can't promise you a rose garden, Teresa. I'll be a pest, obnoxious, annoying. But I won't be able to change it. Red John knows you. He knows you are my biggest weakness, and he could easily make you my second downfall. We can't let him, my sweet. Without you, there's nothing that will keep me in the light, love."

He kissed her urgently, his lips firm and dry, so hot they were warming her whole face. His tongue slid into her mouth, a gentle caress that made her body soar with renewed want. His cock stirred against her lower abdomen.

"My love/Has told me/That he needs me," he whispered against her lips, "That's why/I take good care of myself/Watch out where I'm going and/Fear that any drop of rain/Might kill me. Can you do that for me, Teresa? Can you live a life like that? For it's the only thing that can save me."

Tears were running down her face.

"I can," she breathed, "for you, I will."

And he pressed his lips on hers, silently breathing into and through her, and the world stopped existing around them for the rest of the night.

The End

_The poem Jane is quoting is "To read in the morning and at night" by Bertolt Brecht. I hoped you liked the story- I dreamed this almost exactly like that- including the poem, which is one of my all-time-favorites :D. See you soon (I'm on a Jane/Lisbon-spree at the moment- dream dreams like this, started to make GIMP-collages, began a Jane/Lisbon-scrapbook…I'm truly OBSESSED!). Bruno, you sneaky devil- you drove me insane with this finale!_


End file.
